


Heat of the Moment

by Sue_Snell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Sex, Angel Wings, Bottom Sam, Fire, Gabriel Being Gabriel, M/M, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Sam Being Sam, Top Gabriel, Wings, pyrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sue_Snell/pseuds/Sue_Snell
Summary: Sam's never admitted to anyone that he can't get it up without taking a moment to imagine showering in gasoline and then lighting a match, but when his archangel fuck-buddy asks him point blank, he wonders if things are finally about to heat up the way he's always wanted...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Was reading through old SPN kinkmeme prompts and came across [this one](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/105944.html?thread=40197080#t40197080) for Sam having one or more "weird" kinks of the author's choice and Gabriel happily indulging him. Thinking of weird kinks reminded me of [this Cracked article](http://www.cracked.com/personal-experiences-2102-i-burn-myself-to-get-off-6-realities-extreme-fetishists.html) and I instantly fell in love with the idea of pyrophile!Sam.
> 
> I don't normally feel the need to add one of those "the views expressed herein are not the views of the creator" disclaimers, but, just in case: In this fic Sam views his fetish in a sadly self-deprecating way because he's Sam and he's not going to ignore any opportunities to get down on himself for being a scary demon-blood freak-boy, and as a Winchester he's gonna have some emotional baggage tied to fire anyway. _I_ am of the view that no kink is "wrong" or "too weird" as long as you're indulging in ways that are safe, sane, and consensual, so any time this fic refers to pyrophiles as "freaks" or what-have-you know that that's Sam talking, not me.

The dark motel room smelled like air conditioning and sweaty laundry when Sam opened the door, and he wrinkled his nose and glanced at Dean as he flicked on the light. Dean shrugged, wordlessly telling him the laundry would keep for another day or two. Great.

They’d just gotten back from a quick salt-and-burn, and even though it had gone way smoother than usual, Sam was tense and jittery. But somehow he was also exhausted. He felt like he wanted to run a marathon, but only if he didn’t have to keep his eyes open the whole time, like he could spend the next hour doing pullups if only his body wasn’t so much heavier than usual.

After they dumped their stuff on the floor Dean fell on a bed with a heavy sigh and grabbed the TV remote from the bedside table. Sam headed for the bathroom to change into something clean (well, clean _er_ ) and brush his teeth.

In the other room he heard Dean idly flipping through channels in search of something to fall asleep to. It felt too early to go to bed, but it was definitely too late to hit the road, and with a fourteen-hour drive to Tulsa on the docket for tomorrow, it’d be best to try to unwind and fall asleep as soon as possible.

The muffled sound of the TV lost its stutter as Sam spat in the sink and rinsed off his brush. Dean must’ve landed on something. Sam popped his neck and ducked out of the bathroom, glancing at the screen.

“I got an idea,” said some blond guy in a red suit jacket. Wait, was that Chris Evans?

“Don’t even think about it,” said… Jessica Alba? Oh. Oh no.

“Never do.” Chris Evans was diving off a rooftop and no doubt seconds away from _“Flame on!”_

Sam looked away from the screen, repressing the immediate urge to look back.

“Seriously?” he said, “Fantastic Four?”

“I know,” said Dean, “But there’s nothin’ else on. And hey, Jessica Alba.”

“Come on,” said Sam. He kept his eyes glued to Dean as he flopped down on his bed. Inviting orange light danced on the screen in his peripheral vision. _Don’t look don’t look don’t look…_

“Doesn’t she get naked at some point? So she can be all the way invisible or something?”

“Doesn’t make the movie suck less.” _Don’t look…_

“Still nothin’ else on. You hate it that much, just go to sleep, ya big baby.”

“Psh, whatever. Turn the volume down.”

Just go to sleep. He meant to do exactly that, he really did. He was gonna close his eyes, roll over, maybe even pull the damn covers over his head just to be sure, and stay that way until either he passed out or Dean found something else to watch. But he couldn’t resist. The TV was _right_ there. He didn’t even have to turn his head, just move his eyes.

Chris Evans was _made of fire_ and streaking through the sky, trailing a bright tail of flame behind him like a human comet. Freaking beautiful. The special effects weren’t great, but, because life wasn’t fair, they were still enough to drive the idea into Sam’s head. Even as he forced his eyes shut and turned his back to the screen, he couldn’t stop thinking about it: Chris Evans lighting up, burning all his clothes off to reveal every inch of his sculpted body covered in flickering flame… Goddammit. Of all the things Dean could’ve turned on. _Porn_ would’ve been less distracting. Nevermind the scene was over and Sam’s eyes were closed and his mind had already built up enough sleep-fuzz that he wasn’t a hundred percent sure Dean was even still on the same channel. It was still too late. His brain was full of fire and that fire was threatening to spread to his pants. As he hovered in half-sleep he curled in on himself, paranoid he wouldn’t be able to keep it in check and Dean would catch him popping a boner at goddamn _Fantastic Four_ …

When he finally fell the rest of the way asleep Sam dreamed _he_ was the Human Torch. In that weird way dreams have he could both see himself from the outside, engulfed in crackling light, _and_ feel the hot flames climbing up that skin-tight blue suit, just a hair’s breadth away from singeing his skin. For a moment he soared through the night sky, his heart racing, every nerve in his body electrified as he left a blazing trail of flame in his wake, and then the next moment he was standing on some high up rooftop with some pretty blonde girl. (Jessica Alba?) She grabbed his shoulders, stood up on tip-toe, and kissed him, clinging close to him even though he was still burning. The kiss went on for a while and when she finally pulled back, she was burning too, flames making their way lazily up her dress, teasingly licking at her hair. Her only reaction was to grin up at him—she freaking _loved_ it—and pull him in for another kiss. She smelled of smoke and sweat as he wrapped his arms around her, and pressing their burning bodies together was like hugging a bonfire somehow made solid…

Mercifully, he woke up before Dean did and was able to sneak off to the bathroom to clean himself up without having to deal with his brother giving him crap about it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a wet dream, but Dean was merciless when he caught him… taking care of himself during waking hours (not that he was any nicer when Dean forgot discretion, to be fair) so he didn’t expect much better if he caught onto this. It’d probably start with _“Clowns or midgets?”_ and keep going the entire drive to Tulsa. And God help him if he somehow put together that it was because of the movie they’d watched last night.

It sucked that Dean had to be such a dick about that kind of thing. Sam already felt enough like a pervert when he couldn’t even do it without taking a moment to imagine lighting himself up like a suicidal lunatic. He already hated to think of how the best he’d had was the handful of times he actually set himself on fire.

That was back during his time at Stanford. There’d been a couple of semesters where he’d worked enough to afford a place with no roommates. He’d done a lot of Internet research, mostly checking to see if he was the only one. He wasn’t. He was still pretty damn sure he wanted to keep this thing a secret, but at least he wasn’t a _one of a kind_ freak. And the other freaks knew how to do it without landing yourself in the hospital: Heat rises, so stay under the flames and it’ll last longer. Keep your head out of it— _never_ breathe it in. Wear layers, and make sure nothing on you’s made of synthetic material because that’ll melt and mess you up bad. Rubbing alcohol makes the best fuel: Cheap, doesn’t burn too hot, easy to extinguish, and makes a pretty fire.

Alcohol was way safer—and it was the only fuel he’d used the few times he’d done it for real—but in his head he always doused himself in gasoline. The smell of it went straight to his dick whenever he and Dean had to salt and burn a corpse. One time he started a small gasoline fire and put it out before getting himself started with the alcohol, just to have the smell in the air.

He didn’t do that kind of thing anymore, though, not even when he got enough time apart from Dean to get away with it. Not since he’d watched Jess burn on the ceiling. It’d taken a long time to admit to Dean how he’d dreamed it before it happened, how it kept him up at night to think he might’ve been able to prevent it if he’d only understood. He’d _never_ admit that he’d woken from that dream harder than he’d ever been in his life, that he’d reached out to her sleeping form beside him, jostled her awake, and somehow talked her into the best sex they’d ever had. He’d never admit that the day it really happened, in the split-second between first seeing her up there and understanding _what_ he was seeing, understanding she was going to die, his first thought had been that she’d never looked more beautiful.

Before all that this thing had made him feel like a freak, but after it made him feel like a monster. And the worst part was that even with all that baggage, he _still_ couldn’t get it up without closing his eyes and picturing himself engulfed in flames.

* * *

Holy oil didn’t smell as good as gasoline, but it gave a supernaturally long-lasting flame that was ridiculously easy to corral and control. Not that it mattered, of course. Even if he was still into actually lighting himself up Sam wouldn’t dream of wasting holy oil that way. Not when it was one of the best weapons they had against angels. Still, it was hard not to think about, especially in a moment like this.

They’d trapped the Trickster— _the archangel Gabriel_ , as it turned out—in a ring of holy fire, and when he wasn’t busy contemplating the fire itself Sam couldn’t stop wondering what it’d look like if Gabriel tried to step out. Of course he didn’t.

Instead he told them the story of Michael and Lucifer, his stubborn big brothers whom he still loved and how he’d always known he’d have to watch them kill each other. It hurt to listen. He and Dean understood so much more about the situation now, but they weren’t any closer to stopping it, and seeing an archangel this ready to throw in the towel was hardly encouraging. Sam worried about what this was gonna do to Dean. Every day his brother grew more cold and numb to this whole thing, and Gabriel was basically telling them that was the right reaction. He worried a bit about what Dean was gonna do to Gabriel too.

With the archangel’s little monologue about his family done, they’d reached an impasse and stood silently regarding each other from either side of the fiery barrier. After a while it was Gabriel who broke the silence, staring them down coolly from beyond the flames:

“So. Boys. Now what? Stare at each other for the rest of eternity?”

“Well,” said Dean, “First of all you’re gonna bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him.” Right. Sam hoped Cas was okay. If Gabriel was an angel then Cas was his brother too, right? He wouldn’t hurt his own brother, would he?

“Oh am I?” Gabriel asked, unimpressed.

“Yeah,” said Dean, “Or we’re going to dunk you in some holy oil and deep fry ourselves an archangel.”

 _Damn_ , why did Dean have to go and say that? _That_ mental image was going straight in the spank bank and it was all Sam could do to keep his poker face.

Gabriel’s eyes were on Dean, but for a second they flicked over to Sam. Crap, could he tell somehow? Paranoid as it was, it put a twist in Sam’s gut to think someone might finally catch on to the last secret he had worth keeping. Strangely enough the idea was kind of exciting too, though, like there was some stupid part of his brain that thought maybe Gabriel would like that, and then… what? He really would deep fry an archangel and live happily ever after? Stupid.

Gabriel brought Cas back and they put out the holy fire for him on their way out. Sam had thought that was the last they were ever gonna see of him, but that very night he visited him in his dreams, casually leaning against the wall in some blurry, half-forgotten motel room with his arms crossed like he was posing for a cheap album cover.

“What are you doing in my head?” Sam had asked.

“Nothin’,” he’d replied quickly—Defensively?—with an overwrought shrug. After an uncomfortable beat he’d added, “Just checking to see if my brother’s here yet.”

“That’s _not_ gonna happen.”

“Sure.” Another exaggerated shrug. And then he’d disappeared, leaving behind nothing but the brief impression of flapping wings in Sam’s ears. He didn’t wanna think too hard about why, but he’d wished he’d come back.

Luckily he did come back the next night, and in other dreams, and sometimes in waking hours when Dean wasn’t around, and before Sam could wrap his head around why, the day came when instead of just fluttering off, Gabriel took Sam with him, to… Sam had no idea. Somewhere nice. Somewhere with a bed. He should’ve seen it coming a long way out, but at least it was a _good_ surprise. Afterward Gabriel returned him to the exact moment he’d taken him from. Every time they did this—and they did it more and more lately—no time passed, so Sam never had to worry about being missed. He still wasn’t sure he really _understood_ what was going on with them, but he didn’t care.

He never knew when Gabriel was going to get the itch and snatch him from wherever he was. He prayed to him daily, letting him know where he’d be so he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding him if he wanted to, but he’d learned early on he couldn’t just call Gabriel’s name and expect him to appear. He never got to stay long wherever Gabriel took him, either. Apparently stepping outside time like they did was “bad for humans” in a way Sam had yet to notice but Gabriel could allegedly gage, so _apparently_ it was “for the best” that Gabriel called the shots on the when and how long of every excursion.

He always seemed to get him when he least expected it, like he went out of his way to surprise him every time. That annoyed Sam at first. Then after a while it didn’t.

He definitely didn’t expect him today. He and Dean were going to be on the road all day, only stopping for gas and food, and he’d told Gabriel as much when he prayed to him this morning. Gabriel had yet to go as far as spiriting him away when Dean was around to see it, so he never really saw him on days like this, but maybe that didn’t mean he was okay to let his guard down…

One minute Sam was washing his hands in a gas station bathroom, the next he was standing next to a huge bed in what looked like a fancy hotel room. On the bed in a nest of rumpled sheets was Gabriel, naked and doing the freaking Burt Reynolds pose, cigarette and all.

“What?” said Sam once the initial disorientation wore off, “No bearskin rug?”

“Psh,” said Gabriel around the cigarette, “Those things are _so_ tacky.”

“Not like you at all,” Sam snarked.

“So we doing this or what?” Gabriel asked. Sam couldn’t stop staring at the cigarette, kept having mental visions of it tumbling from Gabriel’s mouth when he talked and catching those fancy sheets on fire. “I mean, unless you’ve got something _better_ to do right now…”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

And just like that his clothes were gone and he was lying on his back on the bed with Gabriel on top of him, nuzzling and nipping at his collarbone. Sam had been through what Gabriel called “skipping the boring parts” enough times by now he’d think he’d be used to it, but it still always left him dazed for a couple of seconds. Gabriel used those seconds to move his mouth from his collarbone to his lips, just in time for Sam to snap back to his senses and kiss him back. One hand carded in the angel’s hair while the other landed on a bony hip and held on tight, as if to keep Gabriel from disappearing on him.

When they parted for air Gabriel planted a quick kiss on his chin, then a couple on his neck, then he was back to his collarbone and heading south, his lips lingering longer each time he pressed them to Sam’s skin. By the time Sam got his fingers untangled from Gabriel’s hair the trickster’s mouth had reached a nipple, and his tongue started working over it like he was going to town on a lollipop. Damn, was he good with that tongue. If there was one thing Sam had learned about Gabriel in the course of these visits it was how that sweet tooth of his came with a _major_ oral fixation. The thought sent a stir to Sam’s groin, but of course it was nowhere near enough. Even as great as Gabriel was, Sam knew he’d never get there without at least thinking about it, so…

He closed his eyes a moment, long enough to picture Gabriel pulling a bright red plastic gasoline can from thin air and soaking him from head to toe with the same tender thoroughness he’d shown with his mouth. Then he’d grab a lighter, his eyes lighting up with that crooked smirk of his as the flame flickered to life…

“What’cha doin’?” Gabriel’s breath was hot and wet in his ear. Sam shivered and his eyes fluttered open as the angel pulled back to look him in the eye.

“Hm?” Sam hummed nonchalantly. He trailed his fingertips up Gabriel’s chest to lightly pinch at a nipple. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

Gabriel chuckled and licked his lips at Sam’s touch, but then shook his head, his tousled hair bouncing.

“I think you know what I mean. You were doing the thing.”

“The ‘thing’?”

“Yeah. The thing you do every time, where you close your eyes and go somewhere else for a little bit, then come back ready to bust rock.” A pointed glance down to where Sam had only made it to half-mast before Gabriel interrupted the fantasy.

Sam tensed, his face flushing. He didn’t realize it was that obvious. He started to sputter, “I—I don’t know what you’re talking…”

Gabriel arced an eyebrow at him.

“…sorry.”

“Who said I was mad?” said Gabriel, “I just wanna know where you go. I mean…” He waggled his eyebrows. “Obviously it’s somewhere pretty nice.”

Sam squirmed a little, having trouble meeting Gabriel’s eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled.

Gabriel frowned, straightened up, and sat back, straddling Sam where he was going all the softer now that shame sent all the blood to his cheeks.

“So what’s the big deal here, Sammy?” he asked levelly, “You pretending you’re with Dean or something?”

“What?” Sam sat up so fast he got dizzy, “ _No,_ why would you _say_ that?”

“If you were me what would _your_ first guess be?” said Gabriel, “Am I on the right track, though?”

“I’m not picturing someone else, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good.” Gabriel smiled. “But that’s not what I’m asking. You’re picturing something twisted, aren’t you?”

Sam looked away, wishing he could disappear in a flutter of wings like Gabriel could.

“Hey,” said Gabriel, reaching out to take his chin in his hand, turn his face back to him, “You ever stop to think maybe I _like_ twisted?”

“You wouldn’t like this,” said Sam, pushing Gabriel’s hand away, even as a hopeful voice in the back of his head chimed in with, _Well for_ him _it’s not like it’d even hurt unless you brought in holy oil…_ “Can we just forget it?” He hadn’t given a lot of thought to this thing they had, but he knew he didn’t want it to stop. So maybe Gabriel “liked twisted.” What did that even mean? Could just be handcuffs and ballgags for all he knew, and if he let him in to see how much worse _his_ version of “twisted” was that’d be it. Every time they were together and he saw him do “the thing” he’d know what he was imagining, and who the hell would put up with that?

“ _Hey_ ,” said Gabriel again.

“What.”

“You were headed somewhere else again. You wanna do that for a minute while we’re screwing, _fine_ , but right now I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Sorry.” It was starting to feel like the whole thing might be over anyway.

“So you’re seriously not gonna tell me what it is? _Me?_ You _know_ you can’t surprise me, right?”

“Really.”

“ _Puh-lease,_ Sam, you _do_ know how old I am. I’ve had to watch you humans dream up every kinky little deviation from vanilla since before you had _words_ for kinky and vanilla.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “ _Had_ to watch?”

“Had to,” Gabriel repeated, “Y’all took forever to invent TV, so there wasn’t much else to do.”

Sam snorted. So “twisted” probably meant more than handcuffs and ballgags…

“So,” said Gabriel, “What’s it gonna be?”

“I…” Sam ran a hand through his hair and tried not to think about seeing Jess on the ceiling.

“Yeah?” Gabriel prompted.

“This isn’t just kinky, Gabriel, it’s… It’s more than a ‘deviation.’”

“If you’re trying to build up suspense here, I promise I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“ _Seriously_ … It’s… I…” He trailed off, at a loss for words for how much more than “deviant” he was talking about here, how _wrong_ it was. How the hell were you supposed to tell someone that you can’t get off without thinking about doing to yourself—doing to _other people_ —the same thing that killed your mom? Sure, it wasn’t like he actually wanted anyone to burn to death, but, still…

As he continued to fumble for words he expected Gabriel to nag at him some more, to snap at him to spit it out already, but he didn’t. He just watched him. Face blank, eyes clear and focused like he was afraid if he glanced away for a second he might miss something important. Sam supposed it was kind of silly to expect Gabriel to be impatient. He had all the time in the world and more. God, how were you supposed to tell an _angel_ that…

“…sometimes, when I stop to think about it, I, I think I probably only… got this way because of the demon blood.”

Gabriel gently brushed his hair out of his face.

Sam wasn’t sure when it happened—Gabriel was pretty damn good at his casually rearranging reality bit—but they weren’t naked and tangled together anymore. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when Gabriel first whisked him away, and Gabriel was fully dressed too. They sat cross-legged on the suddenly-freshly-made bed, facing each other. Sam’s hands were folded in his lap, and he stared at them rather than look at Gabriel.

“That bad, huh?” the angel said.

Sam finally looked back up at him, trying to gage whether he was teasing or serious. Gabriel was smiling, but Sam couldn’t guess what that meant.

“Look, Sammy,” he said, “I know we can’t pretend you’re not one special little snowflake after everything Azazel and my brothers put you through, but you’re _not_ the first human to get a couple of wires crossed in your noggin, okay? So you see something that’s supposed to make you scream and you pitch a tent instead. And, what? You think that makes you evil?”

“Well, I mean, it sure as hell doesn’t make me good.”

“Sure.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Think about it like this, then: Whatever it is you need to see to get it up, picture a guy seeing that and feeling _nothing_. I gotta tell ya, _that_ guy scares me a lot more than you ever will. What do you think?”

“That’s… actually kind of a good point, I guess.”

“I _guess_ ,” Gabriel mimicked him in a low, doofy voice.

“Shut up,” said Sam, but he couldn’t repress a smile. Gabriel grinned back, then went contemplative.

“Y’know,” he said, “Lucifer would be that guy. Hell, Michael too. He didn’t get a big ol’ hate boner for humanity like Lucy did but he never liked you all, either. That’s the problem with my family. They don’t see anything Daddy doesn’t point out first. They don’t know how to care without being told to. I think that’s why Dad made you. You guys get it. You always know when you’re supposed to feel something about something.” He winked. “Even if the feeling gets flipped upside-down sometimes. You _care_.”

“I _guess_ ,” said Sam, affecting a doofus voice of his own. Gabriel laughed.

“That’s not really true about angels, though,” Sam said, “Or at least not all of you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Cas cares. _You_ care.”

“I _guess_.”

Sam chuckled.

“So,” said Gabriel, shifting his weight, “How about it? I talk you into spilling your guts yet?”

“What happens if I say no?”

“Guess I’ll have to find some other way to make you talk.” There was that crooked smirk, the same face he’d pictured him making when he’d light him up.

Sam had worried before about someone finding it all out, or suspecting enough to make him ‘fess up the rest. He’d had variations of this conversation in his head with Dad and Dean, with Jess and Ruby, hell, with the hypothetical firefighters that could’ve come to “save” him if he wasn’t careful enough about doing it to himself, but everything was happening so fast lately he hadn’t gotten the chance to mentally play it out with Gabriel yet. Hadn’t gotten the chance to dread it. And now, for the first time in his life, he found he actually _wanted_ to tell.

So he did.

At first he was awkward and uneasy, unsure of how to present it, and his mind flitted back to that stupid movie. So he started by talking about the Human Torch, which Gabriel found amusing, then he cautiously brought up the idea of seeing other people on fire instead of just himself, and Gabriel was done laughing at him, but he didn’t look mad or scared or grossed out. He looked like he wanted him to keep going, and before he knew it he was talking about the smell of gasoline and the freaks on the Internet and that time he’d burned his arm so bad he had to cover up for weeks with long sleeves in June but he’d come so hard getting that burn it was kind of worth it…

He almost talked about Jess, but couldn’t quite make himself do it. Maybe he would’ve if Gabriel asked, but Gabriel didn’t ask a lot of questions, just sat back and let Sam talk until he was all talked out. When he finally got there, Gabriel grinned at him.

“What?” said Sam.

No answer, just more smiling.

“ _What?_ ”

“ _So_ … We doing this or what? I mean, unless you’ve got something _better_ to do right now…”

Oh.

* * *

They had to work through a lot of logistics first. It took so long Sam worried Gabriel would claim they were taking “too long” outside of time again and zap him back before anything actually happened, but he didn’t. Maybe sticking around this long wasn’t so bad for him after all, but now wasn’t the time to bug Gabriel with that old argument  


The first thing they needed to think about was the layers. Layers were the key to going more than a couple of seconds without getting hurt, though Sam doubted Gabriel would let him get really hurt in any case. When he’d done this by himself the layers were the easy part. He didn’t really have to worry about a restricted range of motion as long as he could still stop, drop and roll, and leaving anything non-essential exposed wasn’t worth considering when there was no one else there, no one who’d want to see, or touch…

Eventually they settled on three layers of shirts and—Sam shivered at the thought— _no_ layers of anything else. Gabriel promised they’d “keep everything in check” to make sure he didn’t need any extra layers, and Sam wasn’t sure whether he wanted more for this to go right or go wrong.

Next was the accelerant. Sam didn’t wanna go back to alcohol. He’d never liked the smell and anyway what was the _point_ of bringing someone else—particularly an indestructible archangel—into this if he was just gonna go out of his way to play it safe?

“You’re _sure_ ,” said Gabriel.

“If _you’re_ serious about this, then yeah. I’ve pictured it a million times; might as well try it at least once.”

“You’re talking about the same stuff you’d use to burn a house down.”

“I’m not asking you to pour it on the walls, I’m asking you to pour it on me. I thought you said you _wanted_ to do this.”

“Alright, alright, _fine_. Gasoline it is, then.”

“…you _do_ want to do this, right?”

“Have I ever lied to you about wanting sex before?”

“I’m serious, Gabriel.”

“So am I.”

“I mean…”

“ _Here_ we go…”

“…it’s just, I get it’s weird, okay? I’m not, like, gonna get pissed if you don’t wanna—”

“ _Gasoline it is, then,_ ” Gabriel repeated, rolling his eyes. Then he added, “You try to tell me what I don’t wanna do again and we’re switching to alcohol.”

Sam smiled shyly and said, “Alright, sorry. Gasoline.”

That settled, there was just one more thing to consider before getting started.

“Um, you can keep yourself from catching if the fire touches you, right?”

“Sure, if I wanna, but unless you’re about to pull some holy oil out of your ass it’s not like you can burn me anyway. Y’know…” Gabriel trailed off, going distant and thoughtful all of a sudden.

“What?”

“Sh, I’m havin’ a thought, here…” After a few seconds of silence Gabriel grinned.

“Good thought?” Sam said.

“ _Very_ good thought.”

“Care to share?”

“Not yet.”

“Well…” God only knew what _that_ meant. “…then I guess it’s time to get started?”

“I _guess_ …”

Sam barely had time to roll his eyes at the running gag’s reprise before everything shifted again. He was on his back with Gabriel straddling him once more, only this time three tight, thick layers of white cotton shirts smothered his sweaty skin up top. The air on his legs was chilly in comparison, and he felt goosebumps popping up all over.

“Ready?” Gabriel asked. He was holding a red gasoline can, just like Sam had pictured.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, surprised he could find his voice at all.

Gabriel didn’t soak him with it, just carefully splashed on enough to put a little extra cling in his clothes and vapor in the air. That smell. Sam’s head was full and dizzy with it, and soon he was—as Gabriel put it—“ready to bust rock” without even the hint of a flame to spur him on yet. His heart pounded a mile a minute. He was doing this. He was _really_ doing this. No closing his eyes and pretending and no playing it safe with alcohol. No rolling over and putting himself out if it started to get scary, which, if he was being honest with himself, was kinda the best part, because when it started to get scary was always when it started to get good…

Gabriel laid a steadying hand on Sam’s hip and Sam shuddered at the touch. He was so wired right now he felt like Gabriel wouldn’t even need to light him, like he’d spontaneously combust from sheer anticipation.

“Easy there,” said Gabriel with a chuckle, “So you want a countdown or something or should I just go for it?”

“Go for it,” Sam whispered.

“Okay.”

Sam didn’t even notice the initial spark (He realized later Gabriel probably summoned it with his mind, no lighter needed.) before his entire torso went up in a burst of flame so tall he couldn’t even see Gabriel anymore. The fire was hot and loud and wild, everything he loved about fire, and when the flames began to settle he saw Gabriel above him, smiling and glistening with sweat and bathed in the fire’s shifting yellow light. He never wanted this moment to end.

The hand on his hip slid toward his cock and he jerked away with a whimper, loving the way the flames moved with him.

“Oh?” said Gabriel, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m gonna…” Sam trailed off with a blush. He was so damn hard. This was so good he was pretty sure he’d blow his load the second Gabriel touched his cock, but he didn’t wanna come out and _say_ that…

Gabriel smirked and Sam got the impression he knew the score.

“Alright,” he said, toying with a tiny unsinged section on the hem of Sam’s top shirt. He tugged on it and Sam felt fibers ripping throughout the fabric, the shirt’s integrity already compromised by the fire. Still clinging to the bottom of the shirt, Gabriel leaned down and kissed Sam, pulling a charred chunk of shirt to the side as he did so, as if to help the fire do its work faster. Sam wrapped one arm (the one with the sleeve that hadn’t caught yet) around Gabriel’s shoulders to hold him close as the kiss lingered, felt the flames between them weakening but refusing to die. The fire spread to the sheets beneath him, which he guessed meant it was getting out of hand, but he wasn’t about to let that worry him right now, not when he was too busy enjoying it.

When they parted Gabriel—who looked completely unsinged by his dip in the flames—gave the top shirt one last good yank and it ripped away in charred tatters, laying bare the next shirt for the fire to work on. The angel sat back and grabbed Sam by the hips, lifting him a little ways off the bed, and Sam gave a breathy giggle that got lost in the sound of the crackling flames. It was another one of those things about Gabriel where the novelty never wore off, the way a guy that much smaller than him could pick him up like a ragdoll when he wanted to. It always cracked Sam up a bit, but he had to admit it always turned him on a bit too.

Gabriel shifted Sam’s weight to where he could support him with one hand and slid the other hand down, his fingers spontaneously slick with lube as they gently pressed into Sam.

Sam gasped as Gabriel opened him up, simultaneously feeling the fire starting to eat through his last layer in a couple of places. A sharp, acrid scent assaulted his nostrils and he realized his hair must’ve caught. He actually felt a little wave of panic at that. _Keep your head out of it or else you’ll breathe it in and you_ can’t _breathe it in…_ Not to mention that barbecued hair would be a helluva lot harder to hide from Dean than the odd hickey which was usually the worst evidence Gabriel would leave. A moment later the fire still hadn’t made it to his scalp, though, and he let himself relax. Gabriel knew what he was doing, enough not to let him fry his own lungs, at least. Although just because he could trust him with that didn’t necessarily mean he could trust him to put his hair back when they were done here…

“Ready for this?” came Gabriel’s voice, low and soft.

“ _Yeah_.” Sam wrapped one leg around Gabriel’s waist and kept the other foot firmly planted on the mattress for leverage.

“No you’re not,” said Gabriel with a secretive smirk.

“Wha—”

There was a weird sort of floofing noise and all of a sudden the room went dark save for the fire, full of shifting shadows cast by—Sam’s mouth fell open as he gaped up at the newly-obscured ceiling. This had never happened before. He was looking at Gabriel’s _wings_.

They were enormous, needing to fold up to fit in the room, and they were gorgeous, all shiny and smooth and sleek, like every individual feather had been hand-placed. They were a deep bronze that gleamed gloriously in the firelight, and they were drawing closer. Sam realized what Gabriel was going for a split second before it happened, and he could swear it stopped his heart for a second:

The wings bent awkwardly at the joints closest to Gabriel’s shoulders and dipped two swathes of trembling feathers into the flames. The fire barely had to lick at Gabriel’s wings before they went up with a _whoomph!_ Next thing Sam knew he and Gabriel were under a dome of feathered fire, surrounded by heat and dazzled by dancing light no matter where he looked. This was probably how most people pictured Hell, but to him it was Heaven.

Sam would’ve expected all those burning feathers to smell awful—like his hair times a thousand—but the scent was strange to his nose and strangely pleasant. It was like something between a burnt marshmallow and a dry version of the crisp, damp smell that hangs in the air after a thunderstorm. If it hurt Gabriel at all he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it, just licking his lips and lining himself up with Sam like there was no difference between now and any of their other times together.

By the time Gabriel got all the way in and started moving Sam’s chest felt the heat in earnest, enough for it to be painful. It wasn’t nearly painful enough to make him want it to stop, though, same as the slight pain that came from stretching around Gabriel inside of him. As Gabriel’s rhythm increased he leaned down to kiss Sam again, one hand gently palming his chest and shocking Sam with the sensation of skin-to-skin contact—he’d already lost all three layers in that spot and hadn’t even realized it yet. Sam closed his eyes to savor the sensations: Gabriel’s tongue making its familiar playful banter in his mouth, the head of Gabriel’s cock grazing over his prostate, the fire gnawing its way through what was left of the shirts, the ambient heat cooking his sweaty skin… Gabriel pulled back and whispered, “You should see yourself right now.”

Sam opened his eyes to once more drink in the sight of Gabriel. By this point it looked like his enormous wings were _made_ of fire and he’d never seen anything so awesome. Literally awesome.

“You should see you,” he murmured back.

“Mm.” Gabriel’s eyes were a little glazed and his rhythm getting more urgent. He had to be close.

Sam glanced down to see Gabriel’s hand still on his chest, glowing with white light that had nothing to do with the heat. He realized Gabriel had to be healing him, carefully watching and replacing every cell, every _molecule_ on the surface of his skin fast enough to keep him _just_ shy of the point where the fire would hurt too much to enjoy. He laid one hand on top of Gabriel’s, his heart racing at the sight of his burning sleeve. Gabriel’s hand was hot, like an overworked laptop battery. Sam gave it a lingering squeeze before trailing his hand down to his cock, wrapping his hand around it. He paused for a moment there, stuck a few seconds with the weird feeling of the unnatural heat he’d picked up from Gabriel’s hand. He watched Gabriel’s eyes closely. Lately he’d been getting better at telling when he was going to hit the peak. Just about… yeah, now was good.

Sam gave himself a few strokes. As he’d suspected earlier, this was all so intense that was really all it took.

“Sam, I’m gonna—”

“Me too.”

It was the closest they’d ever timed it. Sam honestly couldn’t tell which of them went first. Hell, Sam’s went on forever anyway, so maybe he’d been coming both before _and_ after Gabriel.

After a couple of heaving breaths Gabriel pulled out and straightened up, glancing around at the still-blazing fire. On his wings, on the sheets, on Sam. He brought his burning wings even closer than they already hovered, carefully cupping them over the bed so no air could escape. The flames died within seconds, leaving a black vacuum that tore the breath from Sam’s chest. At his strangled gasp Gabriel’s wings spread once more, high and wide enough to knock against the corners of the room. Ash fell from them like dusty rain, and yet they somehow looked good as new under the soot, just as magnificent as when they’d been first revealed, all thick and shiny and impossibly unruffled.

“You good?” Gabriel asked as Sam coughed a huge breath back into his lungs.

“Y-yeah.” His eyes watered as he stared up at Gabriel’s wings, only to see them blink out of existence. Gabriel disentangled their limbs and collapsed onto the bed beside him with a satisfied sigh. They were both covered in sweat and ash, and Sam was ensconced in a crumbly nest made of the ragged ruins of the burned shirts. He’d lie here a million years if he could.

“Hey Sam?”

Sam turned his head to see Gabriel looking at him and biting his lip, badly repressing a grin. There was a certain gleam in his eye that told Sam what was coming.

“ _Don’t_.”

“That was _hot_.”

“Dammit.” Sam snorted in spite of himself and gave the angel’s shoulder a playful push.

“Had to be said.”

Sam shook his head, turning his gaze to the ceiling as they took a moment to catch their breath.

Staring up at the ceiling he couldn’t stop himself picturing Jess up there, the familiar hollow stab of pain in his heart and hot wave of guilt washing over his bones. He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t stupid enough to think a good talk followed by a better fuck was gonna undo all the years of shame and guilt and grief that’d piled up in his head. Still, it was the best thing that’d happened to him in a long time. As for cleaning up some of his damage, maybe it was a good start. A good _start_ , which meant…

“So…” Sam said, glancing at Gabriel, “How soon can we do that again?”

Gabriel smirked and didn’t offer any words, but his eyes said _soon_.


End file.
